


Mirror Dance

by RedLeaderfic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Episode Tag, Fight Your Duplicate, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Treat, mortal peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 08:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15792516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/pseuds/RedLeaderfic
Summary: The only thing Veleveteen Dream wants after after losing to Ricochet is everyone leaving him alone to sulk in silence.But after his win against Lars Aleister seems to need a favor and despite his better instincts the Dream is too curious to say no.





	Mirror Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withpractice_ff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/gifts).



> I'm sorry for the lateness of this treat! Hope you enjoy and that you're having a great ExD! Episode tag for Takeover: Chicago.

Velveteen Dream was so depressed he didn’t do so much as look up when Aleister invaded his privacy by sitting on the floor beside him, moving carefully like his body was too tender to be trying this. The nerve of the man. If the Dream wanted company he very well wouldn’t be sitting alone in this back hallway now would he, but he knew how far talking any kind of sense to Aleister Black would get him. “You should be proud of that match,” Aleister said, seeming to talk to no one in particular as he took his cue from Dream and didn’t look at him. “But I take it you’re not.” Aleister waited patiently for a few moments but Dream didn’t think he seemed surprised at not getting a response. “What did you think of it?”

Dream held his phone up to Aleister’s face and pressed play, letting “What did I say? DREAM OVER” from his prior promo echo in the empty room. 

“Did you really have that cued up?” Aleister said, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Not for you, for anyone who decided to get nosy. Don’t flatter yourself.” Aleister nodded, settling back against the wall with his arms resting on his knees, the black on black on black suit he had on not having enough give for him to sit cross-legged the way Dream suspected he’d probably prefer. He felt Aleister’s gaze sweep over him and knew for once he was suffering by comparison; he hadn’t fixed his hair after his match or bothered about his clothes, just pulling on whatever from his bag. The effort had been beyond him and it wasn’t as if he’d expected anyone to see him. He didn’t know why Aleister wasn’t going back to his business of being champion and leaving him to wallow when it was what Dream so obviously wanted him to do.

He heard the crowd roar as Gargano’s music hit and felt his teeth go on edge. “It’s disrespectful,” he blurted out, the words tasting sour. Aleister quirked one eyebrow at him and Dream couldn’t believe he was going to make him explain it. “ _You’re_ the champion,” Dream said, rapping his knuckles against the title draped over Aleister’s lap. “Not that you’d know it by how they treat you. Your match should be the one going last.”

“My being the champion doesn’t hinge on when my match takes place.”

Dream shook his head. “That’s not the point. You let them treat you like just anybody and sooner or later you’re nobody.”

Aleister looked thoughtful. “You care very much about what others think.”

“The Dream is _aware_ of what others think. You can’t control it if you don’t know it.”

After a few minutes of blessed silence Aleister pushed himself back to his feet, wincing with pain when he stood to the point that Dream thought might to fall over onto him. He recovered himself though, straightening his tie with a long, relieved breath and started towards the exit.

“Not waiting to see how the match goes?” Dream said. 

Aleister shook his head. “I know how this ends.” He paused at the end of the hall, standing under the glowing exit sign and looking over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Dream blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Aleister stayed there looking back for a few moments, then started off again without another word.

Dream was damned if he knew why but he dragged himself up to his feet and followed.

***

Aleister rarely stayed in the same hotel as everyone else and tonight was no different; Dream wasn’t sure what made this hotel a better fit aside from being more out of the way, it was the same sort of common chain. Aleister had looked steadily worse the whole trip there, to the point that half way through Dream had forced him to pull over so he could take over driving. He sat on the bed, watching Aleister drop his bag to the floor with a thud and lean against the wall. “Why am I here, Black?” 

Aleister caught his eye for a moment, then pulled his tie free and let it drop to the floor, quickly followed by his jacket. Dream trained his eyes on the ceiling, smiling for the first time all night as Aleister started unbuttoning his shirt. “If that’s what you’re after I demand some roses first. Some fine wine. The Dream demands to be romanced.” Aleister paused, giving him a long suffering glare before going back to it. 

Dream knew better than to get his hopes up that might be why he was really here but well, if Aleister didn’t mind him watching he certainly wasn’t going to turn down a show. Aleister finally got free of the shirt, his shaking hands making it harder than it should have been, and took a second to catch his breath before starting work on his belt. Dream held his tongue as Aleister finished stripping down to his boxers – also black, the man was nothing if not devoted to his theme – and Dream remembered that one promo he’d done just before he’d won the title where he’d been all but naked. He’d watched that promo so many times. “Why am I here, Black?” he asked again, softer this time.

Aleister caught his eye again, then nodded once. He straightened up, taking a deep breath, then clapped his hands once; the lights blinked out, replaced by a dim glow that looked like it was coming directly from the walls. An enormous pentagram shone on the floor like it was lit by a blacklight while the walls and ceiling where suddenly covered with runes and sigils and scrawled writing that seemed like it moved whenever Dream looked away. “Hope you didn’t put down damage deposit for this room because you are not getting it back,” he said, feeling his skin try to crawl off his body as he looked around.

Aleister’s knees buckled under him before the words were even out of Dream’s mouth. Dream lunged to catch him, looping Aleister’s arm around his neck; all of Aleister’s weight was on his shoulders and he staggered back a step before he caught his balance. “Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong with you?”

“Well,” Aleister said, like he couldn’t catch his breath, “I’m fairly certain Sullivan broke my leg.” He motioned forward and Dream set him down in the center of the pentagram, stepping back as Aleister stretched out. Now that he looked he could see Aleister’s leg was set off at an angle, swelling up, and Dream felt his stomach churn. “How were you walking on that?”

“Something temporary,” Aleister said, the words coming in breathless gasp. “A contingency.” 

Against his better judgement Dream sat down beside him. “What do you need?”

“There’s a leather case in my bag. In the front pocket.”

Dream went and retrieved it, unzipping it at Aleister’s motioned direction to find a jet and opal set knife hilt. “This?”

Aleister nodded and motioned him back. He whispered a few words in a language Dream didn’t know, a language he suspected _no one_ was supposed to know, and a five-inch, double edged blade of shadow sprang from the empty hilt, surprising Dream so much he almost dropped the thing. Aleister looked almost apologetic when Dream gave him a well earned reproachful glare. “The hell kind of thing are we doing tonight?” Dream asked.

Aleister arrayed his arms to line up with the pentagram. “It’s too dangerous for me to do alone,” he admitted. “The Veil gets thin and things will try to come through.”

“All right, I asked this before but maybe I wasn’t clear enough about the question: why am I here?”

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m flush with friends.”

Dream examined the strange blade Aleister had given him. “What exactly are you expecting to come for you?”

“I don’t know,” Aleister said, sounding curious. “What did you bring with you?”

Dream felt all of his hackles go up. “You are not going to blame me if this goes south. Whatever this is.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Aleister’s voice was soft and hazy, like he was slowly passing out. Dream didn’t know if that was whatever this was already starting or if he was just…well, passing out and he needed to come up with a good explanation for when he called 911 and they saw this room. “They’ll lie,” he said, breaking into Dream’s thoughts. “They’ll seem strong but their strength comes from you. Remember that.”

“And if…whatever ‘they’ are get the better of me, what then?”

“Then I hope you do very well in the tournament to crown the new champion.”

Dream balanced the hilt between his fingers and tried to ignore the chill down his back. “You sound very confident that’s not exactly what the Dream is after.

“So you’re leaving then?” Dream gritted his teeth. He didn’t know how Aleister could always, _always_ call his bluff. “If there was another way I would do it,” Aleister said, his voice so soft Dream almost missed it.

“Fine. It’s fine. You’ll owe me. The Dream likes that you’ll owe him, in fact.” 

Aleister nodded and Dream had the maddening sense the man had known exactly what he would say. Aleister squeezed his eyes shut; sweat had beaded up on his forehead, one drop sliding down his temple. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling and Dream couldn’t tear his gaze away; Aleister groaned through his teeth, fine lines forming around his eyes and mouth as he fought what looked to Dream like a losing battle to concentrate enough to do…whatever this was he was trying to do, Dream still wasn’t very clear on it. Another pained whimper slipped out and Dream impulsively grabbed his hand. Aleister’s eyes opened, blinking in surprise for a second before focusing on Dream, the look in his dilated eyes so intense it took all of Dream’s considerable willpower not to look away. Aleister nodded once and closed his eyes again, resettling himself on the pentagram and squeezing Dream’s hand so hard it hurt. “Count me down,” he whispered.

“Count down from what…okay, sure,” Dream said, shifting over to sit a little closer with his free arm around his knees. “Um. 100, 99, 98….” Dream kept counting, watching Aleister’s face as he fought to time his breathing to Dream’s voice. Somewhere in the forties Aleister’s grip went slack, his whole body going limp. For a panicked instant Dream thought Aleister had stopped breathing but after a second he could see his chest still rising and falling, just very faintly. Dream set his hand very carefully back on the glowing line and scooted back so he could sit with his back against the wall, gripping the strange knife so tightly his knuckles were white. “Don’t like this. Don’t like _any_ of this. For the record,” Dream said to the quiet room as if Aleister were still listening.

At least two hours crawled by and Dream began to think maybe Aleister had said all that for dramatic effect. He spotted movement from the corner of his eye and looked but only saw shadow; he looked away and it happened again. This time he didn’t glance away and felt his stomach slowly turn to ice as one of the shadows from the corner of the room pulled away and start to move on his own. He squeezed the hilt of the knife as the tendril of shadow slowly grew, moving to the center of the room and splitting off in a way that suggested arms and legs, something coiled and crouched there waiting to pounce. There was no transition; one second there was nothing in front of him but unformed shadow, in the next he had blinked and there was Ricochet crouched there in front of him, a smile on his stupid, handsome face. “’Proud of that match,’ he said." Ricochet smoothed one hand over his head. “I know was most patronizing bullshit _I’ve_ ever heard. How about you?”

Dream reminded himself this wasn’t real, Aleister had warned him this would happen and that none of it was real. “Get out.”

Ricochet’s smile broadened; he shook his head in that indulgent way people did at children and loud, little dogs. “You really thought you had a chance in that match, didn’t you? That’s cute. You’re cute.”

“I almost had you plenty of times and you….”

“Oh come on now, we were both there. That match was a cake walk. It’s kind of sad really, because I know you were trying to impress me. You were, weren’t you. That’s what you do.”

Dream sneered at him. “The Dream impresses everyone.”

Ricochet sighed. “I’m gonna be real with you Patrick, you’re not even the most impressive twenty-two year old I’ve ever fought.” It took a second for Dream to realize what Ricochet had called him, and by the time it registered Ricochet had started talking about. “But that’s why you picked a fight with me in the first place, isn’t it? You know people I fight become stars and do you ever want to be a star.” Ricochet leaned in, like he wanted to whisper in Dream’s ear. “Too bad you’re just not good enough. I mean it. You got the spirit, I like that.”

Dream saw more shadows moving, slim tendrils of them tearing away from the walls and snaking their way toward Aleister and that snapped him out of it a little bit, reminded him this was a _thing_ he was talking to, not a person. “Don’t you touch him.”

Ricochet’s smile turned cold and cruel. “And what are you gonna do about it?” Ricochet’s face suddenly shifted, his eyes narrowing and face lengthening, skin turning a few shades darker. Dream felt his stomach try to crawl up into this throat as he saw his own face suddenly looking back at him, but his face with plain, short hair, the phantom wearing the kind of plain tracksuit he’d banished from his closets months ago. A face he thought he’d banished, too. “Take it easy Patrick, this won’t last long.”

“That’s not my name.”

The phantom him gave him an almost pitying look. “Do you really think anyone is buying this?” it said, gesturing at his clothes. “It’s a costume. None of it’s real, everyone can see right through it.”

“I left you behind. You don’t exist anymore.”

“Can’t leave behind what you are.” Dream saw those shadowy tendrils reach Aleister, poking at him for a second or two before one of them slowly wrapped around his neck like a noose. The phantom him grabbed his chin, forcing him to look away from Aleister and back at it. “We were talking.”

“I said not to touch him,” Dream said but to his horror the words came out as a plea, not a threat. 

“Why do you think he indulged you like that?” it said. “When he said ‘your name’ after that match. I mean, you lost, it’s not like you’d earned it. I been trying to figure it out.” It leaned closer to him. It smelled like the cheap cologne he used to wear in high school before he’d known any better, the smell always made him gag now. “Do you think he felt sorry for you? I think he felt sorry for you.”

Dream shook his head. He knew engaging with this thing was a mistake but it felt like a compulsion, he couldn’t stop. “That’s not why Black does things. That much I know.”

“Oh, you know him now. You want to believe that, just like you want to believe that match the two of you was the start of something instead of a career highlight. Come on Patrick, look at yourself. You’re a reality show wash out trying to make the best of things, and good for you. You’ve stretched that fifteen minutes so far!” There was something glittering and feral in the phantom’s eyes; somehow without Dream noticing it had gotten right in his face. “But that’s all this is. You’re a novelty act. Look at you, how long have we been watching wrestling? How many guys _just like you_ have we seen come and go? And it’s always the same: crowd loves you for a second, then the interest peters out when the act gets old.”

One of the shadow tendrils forced its way past Aleister’s lips and down his throat; Aleister’s whole body jerked once, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud. Like a fog lifting Dream remembered the knife in his hand; he lunged forward but the strike was clumsy and the phantom dodged easily, grabbing his arm in a hammerlock and forcing Dream down to the floor. It took Dream’s breath away how _strong_ it was; Dream tried every reversal he knew but it was like trying to move stone. “Shhh,” it said, “it’s almost over now. We’ll be better off, trust me.”

Dream watched in misery as Aleister spasmed again, his eyes moving beneath his closed lids like he was just having a nightmare instead trapped in one. “Now don’t be so sad, it’s not like it’s the first time you made a promise you couldn’t follow through one. Hey, you want that title, right?” the thing purred at him. “We both do. He was right that there’ll a tournament and then you can light it up. No matter what happens from here on out, if you get that title no one can take that away from you. That’s one thing at least they’ll never be able to deny. Think about that.”

Aleister’s lips were turning blue. Dream saw his hand twitch once, like he was reaching out, and something about that cleared his head for an instant. The knife had clattered out of reach and Dream stretched for it; the phantom him tried to pull him back but Dream kept his eyes locked on Aleister and managed to get just the tips of his fingertips on the knife hilt. He got a grip on the knife and twisted around, for just a second getting some leverage before the phantom regained the upper hand. It locked its hands around Dream’s throat and squeezed, forcing Dream back down and making him see stars. “Take it easy, Patrick,” it said. “We’re almost through.”

Dream snarled and pushed it backward off of him, straddling it and bringing the shadow bladed knife down into the center of its chest. “I am the Velveteen Dream I am the Velveteen Dream I am the _Velveteen Dream_ ,” he said over and over like a mantra, like the chants he sometimes eavesdropped on Aleister doing to get ready for matches. After a few minutes he realized the thing under him was gone, the other shadows with it; he scrambled back over to Aleister but his pulse was strong and his breathing still faint but steady and even. 

Dream drew back against the wall, the knife held ready. “You get that one shot,” he said to anything that might be listening. “You just try that on the Dream again.”

***

At dawn Aleister startled back to consciousness, rubbing his neck in puzzled confusion for a second before visibly dismissing it. He looked up, his expression brightening when he saw Dream still sitting in guard against the wall. 

“Did you know what I would see?” Dream said, his voice flat.

Aleister’s expression turned almost apologetic for a second, then thoughtful. “Did it help?” Dream scowled and Aleister sighed in defeat, testing his seemingly completely healed leg for a few seconds before nodding in satisfaction. He hauled himself up to sit next to Dream, not seeming to mind that Dream wouldn’t look at him any more than he had in the hallway earlier that night. “I didn’t mislead you,” he insisted. “The ritual really was the only thing I knew to do for the leg but yes, I did think you might gain from it. I underwent it myself, just before I came to NXT. Literally facing your own fears is…instructive.”

“Why did you say my name? After our match. ”

Aleister frowned for a moment, like that was a puzzling question. “You were very insistent that was what you wanted to be called.” Dream glared at him and Aleister shook his head. “I’d been mistaken about you. And unfair. It seemed like the best way to let you know that.” 

“But I didn’t win.”

“You didn’t lose, either. Names are important, they refine us. You’d shown me who you are.” His look went far off for a second. “I think that match is one of the things I’ll be remembered for.”

Dream scoffed. “The Dream does not need to be flattered.”

“I don’t flatter.” And Dream had to admit that was true. “You are so far beyond where I was at your age. I feel ancient saying that, but it’s true.” The corners of his lips tipped up. “I wonder how long it will be until you pass me.”

Dream let out an expansive, dramatic sigh. “I’d have to start actually winning a match or two for that.” 

“Failure is a gift,” Aleister said. “If you let it be. You won’t lose a match in the same way you did tonight’s ever again. When we fight again I’m not sure I’ll win.”

Dream couldn’t help smiling at that thought. “I look forward to finding that out.”

“So do I.” 

Aleister took a long deep breath, rubbing his throat again, and Dream repressed a shudder, trying to force most of the last night from his memory. “You could have died.”

Aleister shrugged. “I didn’t.” He caught Dream’s eye for the first time. “I knew what I was doing.”

Dream looked away, heat flushing up over his face. “I _would_ have lit up that tournament.”

Aleister actually laughed at that, a big, true smile on his face like from when he’d won the title. “You probably would. But I’m glad we don’t have to find out.”

“That’s not how the Dream wants to win that title anyway,” Dream said, his bluster failing when confronted with Aleister’s obvious relief at how everything had gone. “Quit smiling like that. You don’t look right when you smile, you look like one of my granny’s Hummel figure things, stop it.”

Aleister closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Dream felt Aleister’s knuckle brush against his; he could feel Aleister’s hand shaking from exhaustion and exertion and Dream let himself take it in his without thinking too hard about it. Aleister squeezed his hand once and Dream tried to ignore how tight his chest went at that. He was the Velveteen Dream, he should be above getting carried away by a little handholding. “Will you stay?” Aleister asked, his voice soft.

Dream answered with an intentionally casual shrug. “The Dream supposes his morning is free.” 

Aleister nodded. “I think I came to NXT to meet you.”

“Gonna tell Lars to break your leg every match.”

Aleister laughed. “Don’t give him ideas.” He let out a tired sigh. “Help me up.” 

Dream slid the now bladeless knife into his pocket and put Aleister’s arm around his shoulders, standing him up against the wall. The soft breath Aleister let out when Dream kissed him made every moment of that hellish night worth it. 

He may have lost that one match but he’d won the bigger one and that was the important thing. Aleister cradled his face, letting Dream lead him back to the bed before his exhausted legs could fail him.

Dream couldn’t think of any better way to start a winning streak.


End file.
